


Without You, My Dearest

by mydesignmybecoming



Series: Still Your Heart, Still Your Mind [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:19:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9199112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydesignmybecoming/pseuds/mydesignmybecoming
Summary: Comments are much appreciated, thank you.





	1. Preface

In the beginning,  
there was only the bleak, blurred focus of the back and forth, the beat of the bending pendulum

/ blood /  
so, so much blood

blossoming, blooming into _color_ and _light_ and _life_

Next,  
the flaming heat that follows a mind on fire, the utter chaos and calamity that comes with induced insanity

Then,  
the blaring burn that beckons the blow of betrayal -- so brutal is the blow that the beholder is left in bits, broken

After,  
spilling over with sadness, struggling to pick up the pieces of a shattered soul after such a schism, empty and echoing on and on into eternity

At long last,  
a reunion, a rediscovery, a rise in the rift of the ravenous river they wade, a race to win

/ blood, _black_ and _beautiful_ /  
like death

_in the moonlight_

In crippling darkness, with only the white, silent moon as witness, a coupling of pure bliss  
An understanding, timeless and true

A sharing, a survival  
Soaked to the bone in blood, their own and that of their victim's, binding them, they profess their love

A forever forgiveness  
And with a push and a pull, they press, and then let go... weakly, wrapped in each other, and tumble to surrender to the wrath of the waters below

//

 

***


	2. Chapter 2

Bitter, splitting cold are the rushing waters, pushing him under, twisting and turning his limp body, not fighting, unable to fight...

A blast bounds him, flipping him, caught in the current and then releases into the vast openness.

He is still slightly unconscious, but is now waking, coming to, confusion on his face. His mind spins.

 

_"No greater love..."_

 

Whispering at his ear, speaking to him. It coaxes him to full consciousness and then rings out, echoing and endless.

 

_"... hath man..."_

 

The voice booms, on and on, pulsing in time with the beating of his heart. Eyes open under thick lashes, glowing gray stormy blue, to find that he is under water, falling, slipping.

 

_"... than to lay down his life for a friend."_

 

He blinks and then stares, wide. Far down, and drifting further and further, into the fathomless outstretching blue. Fields of light flow through him, all around, casting dark shadows that illuminate the waves thrashing above. He spreads his arms and legs, gently, very little motion, tons of tiny air bubbles tickling at his face. He wonders why he isn't panicking... why he isn't kicking for dear life, why he isn't desperate for breath. He watches, looks around, trying to remember.

 **Remember.  
** **Just _remember_.**

 

 

 _" T h i s_  
_i s_  
_a l l_  
_I_  
_e v e r_  
_w a n t e d_  
_f o r_  
_y o u_  
.  
.  
  . "  
  
" _W i l l_ . "

 

And then, his name sounds, and the voice is one he'd recognize anywhere. A voice he'd committed to memory, long, long ago, without really registering it, without meaning to. A voice that simultaneously conquers him, all the while leaving him triumphant... He returns to reality as it sounds again, through the surrounding water.

It all comes back to him in the split of a second, and his body and brain are overcome with the pounding sensation of adrenaline. His lungs begin to scream. He clutches at his chest, his mouth stretching open, filling with salt water, in a wordless, silent plea.

 

 _" F o r_  
_t h e_  
_b o t h_  
_o f_  
_u s_  
. "

 

Movement directly below him, a gleam of white and blotches of red, fading fast. With all of his might, with every ounce of his strength, he flails his arms to tilt his body downward, diving, delving into colder, deeper depths.

His legs protest, his arms are numb. He is unable to feel his fingers and his face, but still he dives. Toward the white, flickering silver, now quickly disappearing. He kicks and reaches, his head pounding from the pressure and the dangerous temperature of the water.

Almost there... one last, final propulsion forward and he grabs the hand, lit up in a beaming ray of light, seemingly outstretched, freely floating, weightless. He pulls at the form, slinging the body over him, and turns with speed. He moves, as fast as his limbs allow, despite the piercing pain that refuses to numb but only grows more prominent as the fiercely freezing water forces it's way through him, seeping into his bones.

The bright, beautiful celestial moon guiding him through the murky waters of the beating Atlantic, he bursts up, gasping for breath through the waves and the foam. Frantic, his eyes stinging, he rolls his shoulder to keep the body, heavy with wet, sure and steady above the water line.

He tries to focus and finds the shore in an instant, though it is quite the swim. Breath heaving out, fighting against the tenacious, angry current threatening to carry them out again, he struggles to keep both of their heads up. His pace is achingly slow, the icy waters cycling over them, cutting into his trembling limbs like blades, full and furious.

Teeth chattering uncontrollably and with stuttering steps, his feet find solid, stable ground. He lifts the bigger body onto his back as he stammers farther ashore, unthinking, hair dripping and bounds of breath, blowing water from his mouth. Stumbling, incredible pain growing from his right foot up into his leg and hip, he falls, but in a swoop and a swing, he is careful to shield the head that falls, too, along with the body from its place on his back.

His eyes, blue and bloodshot, force themselves to finally take in the face of the form before him. His stomach drops, his heart stops. Oh, that face. He stoops low, pressing his ear to the mouth. No breath. No time. 

**Please... please, no...**

Immediately, he rips open the soaked shirt covering the chest, not moving. Threading his fingers, he folds his hands directly over the heart and pumps hard enough to bruise. One, two, three, four, five... A pause. Blistering cold fingers tilt a head back, a breath in, lips to lips, a long, steady breath out, into the mouth and into still lungs. He watches in his peripheral vision the chest rise.

He pumps again, flustered and full of dread now... "Breathe, dammit. _Breathe_ , damn you!" Two, three, four, five... Mouth to mouth again. Again the chest rises. No change. He beats down on the chest this time, hearing a distinct, nasty crack... three, four, five, six, seven.

" _Fucking_ breathe! Please, _please_!" He presses his mouth to chilled, blue lips another time, exhaling, desperately hoping for an inhale.

No response. He shifts back, lowers his ear to check for a heartbeat.

Nothing... the sound of the waves and the pounding of his own heart, both whirring wildly... Hot tears burn his eyes, and he lets them fall from the cliffs of his cheeks. He takes a limp, lifeless hand in his and puts his head to the chest, giving in, crying out in moving sobs. He buries his face in the crook of a neck, his lips resting just below the chin. "Please, don't leave me... Please, _please_... Hannibal...."

 

And as if the utterance of the name alone had done it, had brought him back from the land of the dead, in a blinding blur of movement, they are both up -- one, on his back, staring in complete shock and total disbelief, the other, on hands and knees, coughing up bile and large amounts of salty sea water.

In an instant, he is at his side, his hands on his shoulders and back, slapping to aid him in clearing the slosh from his chest and lungs.

"Hannibal! Oh, god, Hannibal... I thought -- I thought --"

And in another instant, hands are clenched tight around his throat, a low, resonating snarl erupting from within the larger body crashing into him with immense force. Eyes as red as the sun, setting over sloping hills, do not see as they continue to strangle him, slamming his head into the sand- again, and again.

He manages to choke out the name once more, his vision beginning to fade to black. The hands release with a _snap_ and he is grasping at his neck, gagging on air, sliding on his stomach, blinking away the many specks of white that are flashing behind his eyes.

 

He eases himself to his knees, leaning back to breathe in giants gulps of air, his brain and his lungs swirling with oxygen. He swallows, his throat scratchy and rough. He looks to the body, now full of life, heat and blood pumping through veins, hunched and curled over, blood gushing from multiple wounds on his arms and back. Eyes rise, finding his, and his heart sinks, recognizing that they, too, recognize.

 

"Will...," Hannibal stretches out a hand, reaching, in wait. Will brushes fingertips to fingertips, feebly, shaking with cold, inching closer, hesitant.

"Come, Will. No need to fear...," his voice is thick and raspy, apologetic, and he pulls him in, using his other hand to wrap around the smaller man's forearm. Will fumbles forward, almost falling, knees jutting into sand. They come close, their faces level, and their eyes lock.

Slowly, Hannibal slides his hand along Will's arm, around his shoulder and his collarbone, to his neck... up, up, up, still, to place his palm to Will's face. His thumb strokes down his cheek, circles his jaw, the line of his brow, and traces his nose before trailing over his lips, the top first, and then the bottom. Slowly, ever so _slowly_... Hannibal watches as they part, supple under his touch.

"I thought you were dead," Will whispers, faintly, eyes as blue as a cloudless cascading sky, splitting, meeting dark, descending crimson valleys.

"I'm here, Will. Thank you."  
  
They collide in a loss of breath and soft sounds, their embrace sparking fires within their shaky limbs, igniting their cold cores. Will is the first to pull away, their foreheads brushing, his face flushing. The heat brings on another blush, and he smiles small. Hannibal's mouth turns in a grin, following Will's lead as he makes his way to his feet.

"Do you think you can walk?" Will asks, not breaking their gaze, offering his hand to the older man. Hannibal takes it and stands, blood spilling to his feet from a gnarly gash on his right side. He uses his free hand to cover it, violet red oozing through his fingers.

"After you," Hannibal says, gesturing up the beach with a flick of his eyes.

Will wraps his arm around Hannibal's waist, pressing his side into the wound to apply more pressure and to steady them both, ducking his head as he raises Hannibal's arm around his shoulder. "Together."

Arms wound tight, they lean and limp, taking light, but brisk steps, gripping onto each other for support. Neither look back at the waters behind them as they make their way hastily for the shelter of the dense trees far from the shoreline.

  
  
***

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are much appreciated, thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> New to this fandom, and this site. Tell me what you think, please. The story I wish to tell is not entirely my own, but also the two beautiful souls that are the main focus, as well. They have been coming to me almost every night since I finished Season 3, keeping me awake, writing, for hours on end. Constructive criticism welcomed, of course... but please, keep rude comments to yourself.


End file.
